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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524082">To Ease This Precious Ache</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sistermichael/pseuds/sistermichael'>sistermichael</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>What We Do in the Shadows (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>300 years is A LONG TIME okay?, Breathplay, First Time, Frottage, Homoerotic Swordplay, M/M, Mild D/s, Mild Kink, Mild Knifeplay, Nandor POV, Post Season 2, With apologies to Melissa Etheridge, be nice to the lesbians, handjobs, smut with feelings, the rituals they are intricate, top Guillermo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:28:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25524082</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sistermichael/pseuds/sistermichael</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“The most important thing to know about swordfighting,” Nandor explains, rolling up his sleeves and hefting the blade in his hand, “Is tempo in relation to distance. Let me show you.”</p><p>(Shortly after Théâtre des Vampires, Guillermo shows up on Nandor's doorstep with a seemingly-straightforward request. Things escalate rather quickly.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>214</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Ease This Precious Ache</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>With apologies to Melissa Etheridge (from whom I stole the title) and thanks to the Nandermo discord (you perverts).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the end, it’s not really any sort of formalized agreement. It’s just Guillermo showing up on the doorstep in the pouring rain looking extremely determined. When Nandor opens the door and stares in befuddlement, the first words out of Guillermo’s mouth are “You owe me.” And Nandor, despite not having any context whatsoever, can’t deny him that one.</p><p>See, you don’t get to be an equal-opportunity-pillager of a warlord without teaching other people a thing or two about the aforementioned pillaging in the course of your career. Nandor has seen his share of acolytes; he himself was, of course, once a lanky teen who had no business handling his own limbs, let alone a giant sharp implement of doom and destruction.</p><p>So he lets Guillermo in and digs a pair of swords out of the downstairs closet (silver alloys are, of course, out of the question) and waits demurely outside the bathroom door while Guillermo showers and changes. Somewhere along the line (his enhanced vampiric hearing insists that it’s while Guillermo is shampooing, but his enhanced vampiric hearing has been known to lie like a rug), he divests himself of his own cape and doublet and stands there awkwardly in just his blouse, shifting from foot to foot and trying very determinedly not to think about what’s happening in the bathroom.</p><p>At length, Guillermo emerges. Nandor doesn’t know what exactly what he was expecting, but it was definitely not his former familiar, wet-haired and sheepish and wearing a tattered Melissa Etheridge t-shirt that must’ve belonged to a former victim.</p><p>“There was nothing else,” says Guillermo by way of an explanation, gesturing loosely at Melissa.</p><p>“She has a beautiful voice,” Nandor croaks, because that’s the most appropriate thing he can think of at the moment.</p><p>*</p><p>The most suitable location ends up being Nandor’s crypt, so they jointly shove the coffin and the more breakable tchotchkes out of the way.</p><p>“The most important thing to know about swordfighting,” Nandor explains, rolling up his sleeves and hefting the blade in his hand, “Is tempo in relation to distance. Let me show you.” He beckons Guillermo closer.</p><p>A few sweaty moments later, Nandor is forced to conclude that he may be getting slightly more than he bargained for. Students, even intelligent adult ones, are never this immediately adept. Not only has Guillermo not stabbed himself in the foot once, he’s displaying a frightening level of agility and some intensely fancy footwork. Nandor notes the effect that this has on him but steadfastly refuses to acknowledge it in any sort of depth.   </p><p>“We should spar,” he says abruptly. “So you can see how it all links together.”</p><p>“Okay,” says Guillermo, mostly as if to reassure himself. He gets into position, sword held aloft. “Let’s do this.”</p><p>And, fucking hell, he’s <em>good</em>. Usually Nandor would be wiping the floor with anyone who so much as thought about swords in his general direction, but Guillermo seems to know where Nandor’s going to thrust before he himself does; the parries are lightning-fast and Nandor is forced to confront the possibility that maybe, just maybe, sitting on his ass in Staten Island for centuries has made him a bit soft.</p><p>“I should mention,” Guillermo pants eventually, wiping sweat off his brow with the portion of the t-shirt containing Melissa’s guitar and part of her bicep. “I’m a descendant of Abraham van Helsing.”</p><p>“Fucking tits,” Nandor gasps, hunched over and gasping for the air he technically doesn’t need. (It’s a reflex.) “That does explain a few things, yes.”</p><p>*</p><p>They go again. There are parts of Nandor that are irked that this little piñata farmer is going toe-to-toe with the ruler of a whole damn country, but there are also parts of him that feel a certain unbridled joy that, at last, he has someone to spar with. </p><p>“Do you want to tell me what you’ve been up to?” Nandor finally asks after Round 3, having swooned on the chaise lounge.</p><p>“What do you mean?” wheezes Guillermo, leaning heavily on his sword.</p><p>“Since the theatre. Since the moment at which our relationship was irrevocably ruptured forever, you silly man.”</p><p>Guillermo blinks sweat out of his eyes. “Not really, no.” He waggles his sword halfheartedly in Nandor’s direction. “Can we go again?”</p><p>So they go again.</p><p>*</p><p>“It will be dawn soon,” gasps Nandor after Round 9. He’s still managing to best Guillermo every time, but the margins of victory are getting slimmer and slimmer. “Are you not tired?”</p><p>“Exhausted,” Guillermo replies faintly. From the sounds of it, Guillermo is lying on the ground; Nandor is in no place to judge spatial relationships at the moment. “Again?”</p><p>“Shitballs,” grumbles Nandor, but he nonetheless finds his way to his feet. “<em>Fine.</em>”</p><p>*</p><p>It feels different this time. They’re both tired, but that’s not it; Nandor’s been there before, many a time. He’s sparred with kings and sultans and assassins alike; he’s blinked blood out of his eyes as he fought, quelled hallucinations and mirages as he sunk the death blow. No, this is something else entirely. It’s coming from inside of him, a wild and thrashing thing that’s welling fast to the surface and making itself known. Guillermo, previously on the defensive this entire time as he found his feet, is suddenly attacking, thrusting and feinting and making soft, determined noises in the back of his throat.</p><p>It’s not entirely clear how it happens, even upon later reflection: somehow, in the face of all logic, odds, and physics, Nandor is stumbling backwards, falling as Guillermo knocks his sword out of his hands. Nandor hits the floor with a crash. The candlelight whirls, and suddenly Guillermo is straddling him and the tip of the blade is pressing into the hollow of Nandor’s throat.</p><p>“I yield,” he gasps, ragged. He feels flayed open, wild and unclear where the edges of himself are.</p><p>Guillermo’s chest is rising and falling so fast as to be a flutter, his breathing high and reedy. The tip of the sword trembles at Nandor’s throat. “What now?” he breathes.</p><p>“Usually, you would get up off me.” Nandor had planned it to be a scoff, but it comes out as barely a breath.</p><p>“But…” prompts Guillermo, his eyes wild, because he has to know, he <em>must </em>know, there’s no hiding it through the breeches and there’s no saving Nandor now…</p><p>“You will have to excuse me,” Nandor says, hoarse. “Three hundred years is enough to lull one into the sense that there is an inviolable pattern, and—” Guillermo jerks in surprise and the sensation is more than sufficient to prompt Nandor’s hips to cant up of their own volition, a low moan ripping its way out of his throat.</p><p>“Three hundred <em>years?</em>” Guillermo hisses, apparently immune to his plight. “Since you’ve…” he gestures expansively at where he still sits astride Nandor. “…at all?”</p><p>“Yes, correct, you have ingeniously surmised the extent of my problem, now <em>please get off me so I can go deal with this alone,</em>” Nandor grits out, thrashing a little under Guillermo’s weight.</p><p>That, it turns out, is a mistake of the highest order, because the motion simultaneously presses the tip of the sword more firmly into Nandor’s throat and brings his pelvis flusher with Guillermo’s, and those two things are apparently exactly what the thoughtlessly primal and hungry parts of Nandor want most right now. Their eyes lock, and the wantonness in Guillermo’s eyes must be nothing compared to that in Nandor’s own.</p><p>“<em>Three hundred—” </em>begins Guillermo, awestruck, but Nandor counters with a whine and a definitive upward thrust of his hips. That stupid Melissa Etheridge t-shirt is soaked through with sweat and hanging off one of Guillermo’s shoulders and Nandor longs to sink his teeth into the softness revealed there.</p><p>“Please,” he practically wails. “Let me go, let me—” He stills. Guillermo presses the blade infinitesimally further into his throat.</p><p>“Is it this?” whispers Guillermo. “Me winning? Being bested in combat? Is that what’s doing it for you?”</p><p>Helpless, Nandor can only nod.</p><p>“Tell me,” whispers Guillermo, pressing closer. “Tell me what you need.” His heart is beating so fast and so strong that it overwhelms Nandor, floods his senses entirely with its desperate thrum. “I want to help.”</p><p>Realistically speaking, Guillermo probably could just continue talking <em>like that</em>—low and wanton and just a little bit commanding--and Nandor could finish the job himself with minimal manual interference. But three hundred years makes strange bedfellows and Guillermo is delicious and growly and <em>right there</em> and Nandor, contrary to his name, is not above a little relenting, from time to time.</p><p>“Hold me down,” he murmurs. “Take me.”</p><p>It’s not elegant. He gets a faceful of Melissa Etheridge as Guillermo fumbles with the laces of his breeches and there’s a lot of awkward shifting and a few knee-to-the-groin near-misses but suddenly one of Guillermo’s hands is around his throat and the other is around his cock and there’s an answering hardness pressing against his own as Guillermo strokes him fast and hard.</p><p>“You too,” Nandor moans deliriously, hands scrabbling uselessly at the floorboards. “Please. Please, I want to feel you too.”</p><p>There is a horrible, wrenching pause. Nandor’s eyes fly open. Guillermo is staring back at him, mouth open, hands frozen around Nandor’s cock and neck.</p><p>“Are you sure?” Guillermo asks, small and almost pitiful. Nandor growls, grabbing Guillermo’s hand and bringing it closer to his neck as he shoves his hips upwards. That seems to sufficiently get his point across, because in the span of a few breaths Guillermo is fumbling with his own flies and dragging out his own cock. Nandor moans luxuriously and grabs at the waistband of Guillermo’s underwear, hauling them down over the swell of his ass and sinking his fingers into the softness there. Guillermo’s hand returns to his throat and presses in and Nandor rather loses the plot after that. He supposes that technically he doesn’t need to breathe and realistically this <em>shouldn’t </em>be doing anything for him, biologically speaking, but biology’s never been his strong point and Guillermo is making soft, desperate noises and grinding into him and, speaking of biology, tears are pricking the corners of Nandor’s eyes and flooding his vision. The candlelight blurs as he growls and thrashes into the answering softness above him, the world boiled down to the points of contact between himself and Guillermo. He fumbles until his hand finds Guillermo’s cock; he deigns to remove his other hand from Guillermo’s backside long enough to tug impatiently on the hem of the t-shirt. There’s another pause there, worry clouding Guillermo’s features, but another impatient buck of Nandor’s hips and a bit of a growl seem to do the job. Guillermo divests himself of his t-shirt slowly, Melissa Etheridge finally rippling away to the ground. It’s clearly not meant to be sultry, but something about the shyness of his smile and the vision of his bare chest in the candlelight entirely shuts down whatever parts of Nandor’s brain were still clinging onto some semblance of function.</p><p>“Lovely,” he murmurs, reaching up to touch. A nervous laugh bubbles out of Guillermo. “Exquisite.” Nandor strokes gently, awestruck.</p><p>“Where were we?” Guillermo says suddenly, brusquely. He snatches up the sword again and presses it to Nandor’s neck, his other hand wrapping around both of their lengths and setting a punishing pace. It’s unfair but it’s <em>good</em>, and because three hundred years are not particularly kind to one’s stamina a distant part of Nandor’s brain realizes about four strokes in that he’s coming, shouting and babbling and thrashing and utterly emptying all of himself. Somewhere in the melee he manages to get a hand around Guillermo and jerk him in kind. Through the haze he feels Guillermo shudder and gasp something in that tongue he’s always speaking, but no matter how hard he clings to consciousness it slips further and further away from him until at last he surrenders and lets himself go lax against the floorboards.</p><p>*</p><p>When he comes to, he notices three things: one, everything reeks of sex. Two, everything is sticky. And three, he is cradling a shirtless, quivering Guillermo to his chest.</p><p>“Oh,” he says, very intelligently. In fairness, he hasn’t felt this utterly blissed-out in centuries and that fact is making it rather hard to think.</p><p>“Oh,” replies a soft voice against Nandor’s blouse.</p><p>“O-kay,” he says, stalling for time.</p><p>“Yeah,” breathes Guillermo. “That, um, happened.” He pushes himself up off of Nandor. “It’ll be dawn soon.” Nandor whines pitifully and reaches out, mourning the loss of contact. Guillermo is searching around on the floor; it’s only when Nandor catches a flash of Melissa Etheridge’s smug face as Guillermo slides the t-shirt back on that he realizes.</p><p>“That wretched woman is most certainly <em>not </em>welcome to come to my window,” he grumps, lacing his fingers behind his head and watching Guillermo straighten himself out. Guillermo snorts, running his fingers through his riotous hair in a totally futile attempt to calm it.  </p><p>“Be nice to the lesbians,” he chastises, trying and failing to hide a smile. He looks over to where Nandor’s coffin is pushed up against the wall. “We need to get that sorted out.”</p><p>Nandor bites his lip. He’s going for ‘cute’ but ends up with ‘bleeding’ (on account of the whole fang situation). “Guillermo. I would like to, um, request your presence at my window when I arise tonight. There is no need to wait by the light of the moon, as I will have arisen by then.”</p><p>“Oh, for <em>fuck’s sake,</em>” Guillermo groans, burying his face in his hands. But he’s still straddling Nandor and technically he’s not saying no, so even if it’s not an outright win, Nandor will absolutely settle for détente.</p>
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